


With Guile

by RhetoricFemme



Category: Ouran High School Host Club - All Media Types
Genre: Host Club Reunion, M/M, Make up sex, Making room for the future, More like impulsive-I've-got-you-now-sex?, Moving On, Post-Ouran, Reconciling the past, These two just want to take care of each other, whatever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-07
Updated: 2016-06-12
Packaged: 2018-06-06 21:37:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6771190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RhetoricFemme/pseuds/RhetoricFemme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Toward the end of a Host Club reunion, Kyoya and Kaoru look to each other to make some hard decisions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This has been floating around in my head for the past few nights, and I finally got a chance to get it out of my system. I love Kyoya and Kaoru, but it can't always be simple for them, can it? ;)
> 
> And while I know this piece has an air of ambiguity to it, I rather enjoy it that way. I feel like the important stuff is clear enough, and that not everything else needs to be spelled out. Interpret from that what you may.
> 
> I hope this finds you well. Thanks for reading!

“You’re unbelievable.” Hikaru mutters. “It’s beyond me how you get away with all of that, but props to you.”

“No, I don’t think we’ll ever know.” Haruhi teases. “But I guess that’s just part of his charm.” Her statement earns an enthusiastic nod from Hani, and murmurs of agreement from the rest of their friends, none of whom are about to pass up an opportunity to compliment and chide their dear old shadow king simultaneously.

“I wouldn’t say I got out completely unscathed.” Kyoya debates. “Bowing out of the race for the inheritance was… a cumbersome experience. Thankfully, it’s not difficult to see the good sense in having a lawyer in the family.”

“It doesn’t hurt having Hideki-Sensei as your mentor, either.” Tamaki adds, referring to Tokyo’s premier financial law expert, who has only recently considered retirement after more than three decades of successful practicing.

“Indeed not. Only the best.” Kyoya raises a brow at his own comment, his voice trailing off while he swirls the wine lingering at the bottom of his glass. “Ending things with Setsuko-san, on the other hand? Let’s just say my father has begun to notice my proclivity for surprise.”

Kaoru nods, making a droll noise in agreement. While he wants to comment that it’s certainly taken Ootori-sama long enough, what he wants more is for someone at the table to steer the conversation elsewhere. It’s his fault they’re discussing Kyoya’s private life, anyway.

It’d been easy. Pleasurable, even, to engage Kyoya in talk of what his life consisted of these days. It had always been easy on account that he genuinely cared. Being brought up to speed felt good, and helped sooth and confirm the repercussions of what Kaoru called a sound choice—what others might refer to as an epic mistake.

The gentle clink of tines against Swarovski glass snap Kaoru out of his reverie. He raises his glass alongside Tamaki’s, giving a wry but loving grin as the blond proposes a toast to the night, and again to their impending futures.

Tilting his head back, Kaoru empties his champagne flute down his tightening throat. At any rate, it should prove to be an interesting weekend.

 

* * *

 

Impending dawn has never been so cruel.

Bittersweet remnants dance on the tip of Kaoru’s tongue; promises and sentiments that are now years gone by. Once passionate thoughts of the future have been relegated to painful curiosities, but still Kaoru stands with one foot on either side of the door. He’s unsurprised when instead of asking where he thinks he’s going, Kyoya cuts straight to the chase, instead.

“Taking a lover to deter me, but you never imagined I’d be the one to choose another route.” Kyoya’s taken to the edge of the bed, leaning on hands whose fingers graze the crumpled bedsheets behind him—evidence to convict Kaoru of their mutual need to be unabashedly owned by the other. “Did you?”

Kaoru answers in silence, unapologetic for his actions, though he finds himself completely absorbed by the grief that’s taken up the hole caused by Kyoya’s absence.

“I didn’t want you to have to choose. So I took the option away from you.”

It’s not as if Kyoya hadn’t also tried others on for size. The beautiful, influential sort who Ootori Yoshio would surely approve of. Finding Kyoya inside the society pages, however, was a pang far more unsightly than happening upon photos of himself, as uninspired as they were. If a picture is worth a thousand words, then perhaps in breaking it off Kaoru should have offered his former lovers a scrapbook of their bored faces as definitive explanation.

For better or worse, these days he sleeps alone.

But it was different finding Kyoya there. Where the public might hold flippant interest in who Kaoru shared photographs with, for an Ootori it signified a union not simply of love, but global prowess and a strength that could not be generated by a single individual. To happen across the youngest Ootori sharing his hand was most certainly a moment worth capturing.

It had all left Kaoru feeling a desolate combination of sickening and sickened.

“Host club reunions are few and far between, Kaoru. Is this obstinance why you were unable to make the last one?” Kyoya straightens his spine, but not before running his hand through the stark white bedding that is rapidly losing its warmth.

It’s nothing they haven’t gone over before. It’s the touch-and-go phone calls, the seemingly casual messages passed through their private group of friends. The occasional e-mail that informs Kyoya that the life he wants might still be his.

It’s been years, but this time Kyoya is intent on remaining recalcitrant to the nature of their meeting.

“So little faith in us. Not to mention that my choices are mine to make.”

Motionless, Kaoru stares back from the threshold, while everything that matters lay teeming just beneath the surface. He’s gone without for too long, felt too little for those who’ve offered their intimacy to keep telling himself that Kyoya isn’t the one, isn’t his predilection, his _more than this._

At this point, it’s a mere question of how many times Kaoru can fall on his own sword before he simply fails to come back to life again. What’s more, is both of them know it.

Kyoya revels in it, savoring that he’s allowed to see Kaoru in this state of raw vulnerability. It’s not that he _enjoys_ seeing Kaoru this way, rather he holds onto the fact that these slightly lowered walls are something he can work with. Even treading a deviated path does nothing to change that he is an Ootori to his core. Kyoya is nothing if not aware of his surroundings; recognizant of any avenue that might work in his favor.

Any consideration for his next move is cut short when Kaoru finally opens his mouth, voice so quiet it is a wonder Kyoya is able to make out the words. The look on Kaoru’s face alone is enough to indicate that no matter what happens, this time designates a game over.

“I’m tired, Kyo. I don’t think I can watch you go through another one.” _What if the next relationship is the last?_

Kyoya’s jaw tightens. All previous resolve leaves his body with the realization that Kaoru was never stringing along this episodic malfeasance alone. For Kaoru, each attempt to invite a prospective partner into his life has only ever been in absolute, laughable vain, with Kyoya never too far behind. The truth of the matter is Kaoru never stood a chance.

“You’ve got to be far more tired than you look.” Kyoya’s own voice is full of guilt; a somber whisper with regret set into every last word. “Wouldn’t it be so much easier if you just came back to bed?”

Kaoru hears the question for the plea it truly is, and responds in kind.

For too long, they’ve played a most wearisome game. He’s so tired as to find more numbness than joy in stepping back through the door, though the hope far outweighs his skepticism. It’s no meager consolation to reclaim the space alongside the man who until now has simultaneously been his best and worst kept secret, and for Kaoru, it’s enough.

For now, it’s enough just to notice the shadow of a smile as it brightens Kyoya’s face.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Six months prior to Chapter One, Hikaru begins to better understand the details surrounding Kaoru's personal situation.

**Six Months Before Reunion**  
**(Six Months Since the Last)**  

Time has granted Hikaru several means of confirming his twin’s love for Kyoya Ootori. As much as he’d like to hear it from the man himself, he does not need Kaoru to admit what he’s been up to in order to figure the situation out. Instead, he need only think back on the last several months, on the uncharacteristically drawn-in behavior Kaoru’s been exhibiting. But no—it’s characteristic of his brother, if not also rare.

Unfortunately, this also necessitates that Hikaru cautiously partake in whatever struggles that come during this torrential season where Kaoru is made to live without _him_.

To start, there is the burden that comes with being irrevocably linked with one of the two unpredictable lovers at hand. As if he could hide the important matters from his brother, Kaoru has inadvertently become Hikaru’s primary resource in making a case against various charades of intimacy.

He knows by the inconsistency of Kyoya’s presence in their everyday lives.

There are times when the shadow king may show up virtually anywhere that Hikaru and Kaoru maintain shared space—“Hello, Kyo-san. Will this be the day we set up a financial wing in the atelier?”—and the sense of ease that his presence brings near.

That’s not to say there aren’t instances of Kyoya’s prolonged absence, where this loss of certain company seems to throw a slow bleeding gossamer over Kaoru’s entire world.

Kaoru’s silence on the matter leaves Hikaru left to guessing exactly what’s happened, but never does he doubt that _something_ has happened. As for who is responsible, well. That, Hikaru surmises, is anyone’s guess.

More than anything, it’s the change to Kaoru’s demeanor as he feigns his way through normalcy that grates against Hikaru’s nerves. It’s an unattractive shade of gray; not quite dishonesty, as Kaoru has told no outright lies, though it’s a bending of truth, no less. This concerted effort is painfully obvious to Hikaru, who has been left to grasp at this mess of straws all on his own.

“You’re really not going to tell me, are you?” On par with the hurt is the sheer sense of utter disbelief.

“Hika.” Kaoru keeps his hands busy as he speaks; pulling samples, rearranging drawers, comparing fabrics to accessories. Whatever keeps his head down and his hands from visibly shaking. “Drop it, please.”

Months go by this way. The next time they speak directly of him is when Hikaru ducks into the atelier to find Kaoru sitting in a circle consisting of pins and scissors, swatches of fabric, and design books. It’s a happy little mess if Hikaru’s ever seen one, and he asks in one breath if Kyoya’s measurements have changed at all since the last of the suits Kaoru made for him.

 

**Four Months Before Reunion**  
**(Eight Months Since the Last** )

If the twins have held onto anything from their Ouran days, there’s no questioning that Fujioka Haruhi is their loveliest item. The three have remained close since the inception of their days, and have for some time now enjoyed the privilege of all three residing in Tokyo for the first time in years. The frequency of their time spent together is equaled only by whatever closeness can be found between Takashi and Mitsukuni, who in sharing blood have a leg up on proximity, anyway.

They have, as Hitachiin are wont to do, held onto this person who they find so dear, with the sort of white-knuckled grip that can only be rivalled by the veracity one might show for a lover. Not only does Haruhi recognize the twins’ devotion to their friendship, but she reciprocates it.

It’s this closeness that provides Haruhi the kind of permission necessary to never hesitate when she has something legitimate and dire to say.

“Do you happen to know if Kaoru is done fucking things up with Kyoya yet?” A career in law has been good to Haruhi, not only building her in name and reputation as a relentless do-gooder, but also in sharpening her knack for seeing and speaking the truth when it’s plainly in front of her.

Hikaru stares at her incredulously from across the café table at which they sit, the spring breeze ruffling his fringe as she looks him in the eye and steals wagashi from his plate.

Always a big brother first, Hikaru remains discreet, even with her. This doesn’t prevent him from importuning Haruhi for details whilst taking a sip from her coffee, in kind.

Where should she start.

“How about being honest with himself?”

Kaoru’s honest with himself, Hikaru says. Just not with everyone else. Admittedly, this is not much better.

“Why does it feel whenever I see him, the look on Kyoya’s face is a direct response to however Kaoru’s been behaving throughout the evening?”

To this, Hikaru’s got nothing. He knows _something_ is there, though Kaoru and Kyoya have been very careful about maintaining certain types of space in the midst of company. With plans and reputations ahead of them, it’s the least each man can do, though amongst friends this façade is laughable, at best.

“I know you see how Kaoru’s been miserable lately.”

Hikaru gives her a slow nod. He’s starting to lose track of exactly how long things have been like this. Once retrospect kicks in, more time adds up than anyone would be willing to admit. Dammit.

Haruhi sighs. She’s got one card left to play, and really, all it amounts to is that _someone_ will have aired the truth. Even if she isn’t necessarily the right one to air it.

“Alright, here it is. I don’t see him or Kyoya having a shot at the lives they truly want without each other being in it.” She takes the facts one step further when she informs Hikaru that for well over a year now, Kyoya has done all he respectfully can to pursue Kaoru. In his own way.

It’s unclear to Hika whether by stating this last line if Haruhi intends to make a certain point, or if she is just being cute. Probably both.

As it turns out, Kyoya’s own way involves allowing Kaoru the space he needs to carry on his charade, occasionally keeping in touch just to see how he’s doing and whether or not Kaoru has come to his senses.

For his part in this debacle, Kyoya has been courting an heiress whose power lies in name only. A pretty little thing, she’s talented at empty banter, but hardly realizes the lack of depth to her own words. A society thing to the core, she sees Kyoya’s gentle refusal to consummate their relationship as an extension of his gentlemanly ways.

On his more sordid of days, Kyoya is tempted to ask if a gentleman would allow his love to do him ache, while asking permission to simultaneously pain that love, in return.

Hikaru understands the implications behind Haruhi sharing as much as she has with that last statement; that while she’d love to enjoy Kyoya’s direct company, that she more than likely received word of his goings-on from Tamaki, instead. But, her expression determines, that is a story for another day.

Time in itself is a commodity. How they choose to spend that time, and who with means a great deal these days. It also serves as impetus for what Tamaki likes to call a Mandatory Host Club meeting during the same weekend every year. Nearly a decade out of Ouran for the youngest of them, and with the exception of Kaoru missing the previous year, not one of them has missed a single reunion.

Haruhi finds no pleasure in turning this salty at the sound of Kaoru’s name. It’s because she loves him that she refuses to abide his allegedly selfless behavior—what she essentially believes to be an imposition on Kyoya.

A test.

Good intentions won’t defend Kyoya’s actions, either, Hika counters. Whatever he’s waiting on had better be damn good, if he’s spent this long obliging Kaoru and his games.

Together, they each let go of an epic sigh.

Here, no one is wrong, no one is right, but everyone is frustrated, and some of them are in pain. On this they agree.

With little left to say on the matter, Hikaru and Haruhi finish their dessert at an impasse.

 

**Two Months Before Reunion**  
**(Ten Months Since the Last)**

There is little in life for which Hikaru has shame. Particularly as an adult, wherein he’s learnt the value in adapting to his surroundings (read: people) while metering tongue and temper accordingly. As always, Hikaru means what he says, and says what he means. More often than not, his words remain unapologetically sharp, though these days he chooses those words cautiously enough to maintain pride in saying them.

It is par the course, then, when he takes intermission from a sold out recital the same way that he came: alone. With time at a premium, it’s the closest he’s getting to fresh air. Sidestepping through the crowds, he traipses from one end of the gilded lobby to the other, quickly realizing that he’d rather not get caught up in superficialities with one acquaintance or another. Really, all he came out for is to hear the already legendary Kousei Arima in person before the piano prodigy leaves the country again.

Alas. For all its size and grandeur, Tokyo Opera City has nothing on the influence of fate, and soon enough Hikaru finds himself toe-to-toe with none other than his old friend and veritable partner-in-crime, Ootori Kyoya.

Muscles fighting the urge to seize, Hikaru is wide-eyed as he accepts a shake of Kyoya’s hand in greeting. He grips Hikaru’s hand just on the other side of firm, just strong enough for Hikaru to ask himself what it must feel like to run into the mirror image of one’s sometime-lover.

“Here alone, I see.” There’s a smile in Kyoya’s voice, as he seems pleasantly unsurprised—nostalgic, even—to find Hikaru enjoying his own company in such a social, media-driven place.

Hikaru shrugs, one corner of his mouth raising in a playful smirk at being called out. He is but one of countless children of the upper echelons, after all. Who is going to pay attention to him?

“Kaoru’s out of the country right now.” Hikaru explains. “Haruhi’s burning the midnight oil, and I’m pretty sure Ageha would fall asleep at this sort of thing.”

“Indeed.” Kyoya’s laugh is warm and personable, and all Hikaru can think is that one could not receive any more sincere a response. Kyoya is so ingrained in his world, that the inflection behind a single word ensures he can attest to everyone Hikaru speaks of—right down to his baby sister. Were Hikaru to voice this sentiment, he’s convinced Kyoya would point out in no uncertain terms that Ageha is a baby no more.

Indeed.

With each second that passes, Hikaru becomes increasingly aware of the woman holding gently onto Kyoya’s arm. Her presence is almost a nuisance as he wishes to speak authentically with Kyoya some more. Traditional in her beauty, she addresses Hikaru with her smile and attention, only, and leaves all the talking to the men.

Kyoya introduces her as Nakamura Setsuko, and is content to leave the matter at that. She kowtows toward Hikaru politely, who waves the gesture off in what can only be described as genteel humility. It’s the least he can do as Haruhi’s voice echoes in his mind, and before Hikaru knows it the young woman’s personal sentiments are running through his own head.

_Gentleman._ He decides to keep the meeting relevant, and carefully chooses his words.

“Arima-sensei’s influence over music is powerful, yes?”

“Yes.” Kyoya’s voice trails off in answer, wise onto Hikaru’s non sequitur. “He doesn’t play as most critics would prefer him to play. Hijacking concertos and sonatas, as it were.”

“Ah, but this is what I love about him.” Genuine glee spreads across Hikaru’s face, and for a moment the feeling is contagious—enough so that Setsuko-san decides to join in.

“Music comes with its own set of rules, is what they say.” She shares. “Being a rogue musician is part of his appeal, though, I suppose. Not like Suoh-san, who plays piano beautifully while staying in those parameters.”

“Yes, I suppose Tamaki does have a way with his keys.”

At this, an unexpected trill fills the air as she laughs. “Suoh-san is a lucky man! But then, he’s been your best friend for so many years, now. Since your father introduced you. Of course you’d call him by nothing more than his given name.”

Her gaze is directed toward Hikaru while declaring this, as if expecting the two of them to share some sort of inside joke, or perhaps some desperate outreach for commiseration.

“Tell me, Hitachiin-san, how does my fiancé address you?”

Years have gone by since any of them have humored the notion of being one another’s kohai or senpai. Haruhi had been the first to toss away titles in regard to each of her friends from the host club. They’d gone through too much, she’d decided. Intimacies and confidences alike had bound them tighter together than could be touched by their society’s rules.

Save for private sentiments—of which there were plenty—it didn’t take long for the rest of their circle to follow suit.

Hikaru lets a derisive laugh slip, though he gathers himself quickly. How does Kyoya address him? Well. In Hikaru’s experience, there is a certain rigidity that runs through that man’s blood that suggests he might keep pet names for one, but provides nicknames for exactly nobody.

None of this prevents Hikaru from playfully addressing him as Kyoya-kun in closer company, however—a sort of test, if not also a friendly tease on Mitsukuni’s propensity for affectionate honorifics. It’s just the kind of jack-assed sentiment years of fire-tried friendship have earned him. Miraculously, Kyoya has always allowed the nickname to slide.

“Ah, of course it’s Hika-san for me. We’ve been friends for so long. Back in the day I harassed Kyoya-san so much he might have regarded me a mischievous little brother.” He glances toward her briefly before directing his gaze toward their shoes. He can feel Kyoya’s gaze settling on him, and he just barely manages to keep himself from nervously rubbing the back of his own neck.

The honorific tastes bitter against his lips, but what can either of them do?

Reprieve comes by way of gently flickering lights. Intermission is nearly over.

Throwing Kyoya a polite nod, Hikaru kowtows charitably for what he imagines to be the temporary woman on Kyoya’s arm. If only one more time, he offers his friend a shake of the hand.

“It’s good to catch up with you, Kyoya-san.” Hikaru’s words are sincere, if not somewhat misleading, as if he hadn’t gotten a generous helping of information from Haruhi only a month ago. “We’re only two months out from this year’s reunion! I’ll make sure Kaoru shows up this time. I know he regrets having missed out on the last one.”

A raised eyebrow, restrained smile through pursed lips. “I’d appreciate that— _Hika-san_ , thank you. Dare I say it, but it seems as though too much of our time has already wasted by.”

Setsuko-san appears confused by the sudden change in tone, but a quick smile from her beau seems all it takes to smooth her concerns over. No breadth. Zero depth. Hikaru finds the little scene entirely too familiar and is infinitely glad to know Kaoru is single again.

“Right.” He sniffs. “I’m off. Enjoy the rest of the recital.”

Moving quickly for his seat, he nods in acknowledgment of Kyoya’s departing words without turning around.

_Hika-san_. Man, if things go his way, Hikaru’s never going to live that one down. Oh well. It is what it is.

Kaoru should be home soon, no doubt carrying with him the best of his sketches and swatches from Spain. With some work, Hikaru imagines, things can finally start returning to normal. Maybe he should be the one to work abroad, next time. What, with so many of their friends beginning to settle back in Tokyo, Kaoru should do his part to see them, and stick around for a while. Perhaps a talk over tea and cakes with Mitsukuni would help him regain his bearings.

He thinks back to the first and second years of high school, to the formidable learning processes that occur outside of the classroom, and smiles. He’s not naïve enough to imagine that life can revert back to feelings and dispositions that are years gone by, though neither is he cynical enough to think that fate didn’t drop them all into each other’s laps for a few Very Good Reasons.

But the universe can only do so much before one must start to take on their life’s workload themselves. Or in Kaoru’s case, thank-you-very-much, with the help of a voice of reason named Hikaru.

Having finally returned to his seat, Hikaru takes advantage of the time he has left before the curtain draws and the lights go down. Flipping through his list of contacts, he selects Mitsukuni’s number and shoots off a text indicating the day Kaoru is set to arrive home, as well as his flight number.

Kismet.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I hope this story finds you well. Initially, I wrote _With Guile _with the intention of it being a oneshot. As is often the case, however, this started to evolve into something all its own. I loved writing it from Hikaru's perspective, and really have my friend Angelle to thank for that. She'd mentioned wondering how Hikaru felt about the relationship, and as soon as she brought that facet up, my mind just kind of took off with this from his point of view.__
> 
> __I adore Hikaru. I'm waiting for the day where I write him in his own world some more._ _
> 
> __Aaand, before I forget... The recital that Hika and Kyoya are attending is for the piano prodigy Kousei Arima, who is the lead character of the brilliant manga/anime, Your Lie in April. If you're looking to get emotionally wrecked with some smile along the way, I highly recommend looking into it._ _


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end of a weekend, the beginning of the rest of their lives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, and thank you so much for reading!
> 
> This was an interesting chapter for me, as it felt much less like writing a story, and more like delving into meta. Which, I'd like to think, is a big part of what fan fiction is about.
> 
> One note: In mentioning the Ginza district: This is the area of Tokyo known for its high-end shopping and art museums. I'd love to see Kaoru during his 20s making a nest for himself, here. <3

Emotional as he so often can be, even Kaoru understands the type of exhaustion involved in building a life on apologies. Only a fool, he decides, might attempt to establish a meaningful foundation in the effort to make up for lost time.

Thankfully, no one here is interested in running around in circles. Now that the two of them have voiced a decade’s worth of apologies and regret, time is better spent looking forward.

Before they go, Kaoru is intent on reminding Kyoya of the breath-stealing moments, that for him have been at the crux of it all.

A kiss, soft and confrontational, reflects the first time Kaoru understood exactly how the third Ootori boy could make him feel. No one had bothered telling him back then, at the age of seventeen, that the simplicity of a kiss from the right person could rob a person of their senses.

Absolute bliss washes over him when Kyoya responds, and Kaoru can’t help but remember the urgency with which Kyoya moved all those years ago—some physiological indicator that their time was at a premium. He compares it to how Kyoya kisses him now, with gentle reciprocity that assures Kaoru that he isn’t going anywhere.

The deliberate nature of Kaoru’s affection earns him a wry smile as Kyoya recognizes the mimicry, and is even better than he could’ve imagined when Kyoya willingly leans into his touch. Every bit of affection is a treasure to him—a nod of approval. A promise that there is little in this world Kaoru won’t do to secure the implicit trust Kyoya seems to have handed him so willingly.

He’s curious to know what measures Kyoya has taken to allow himself this leap of faith. But then, he can’t help but be reminded of formative years rife with mouse plans sustained by little more than lofty visions of youth, and a phantom scapegoat called Privilege. How the lot of them pulled off half of their antics is worth a laugh under his breath, while his heart recalls how more often than not it was Kyoya’s insurmountable efforts that helped them achieve the impossible.

Of course loving another person should be a calculated risk.

He smiles into another kiss and remembers how carefully Kyoya handled him the first night they’d undressed one another, all hitched breath and pronounced heartbeats. He emulates that adoration here, and it’s just enough that Kyoya has no question of what Kaoru is playing at. Just enough time to savor that part of the past before deciding to pivot them elsewhere.

It’s a short distance from the open window to the vanity, where Kyoya directs them, now. His neck is still red and glistening from Kaoru’s attention, who now stands beside him, heavy-lidded and admiring his own work.  Two sets of mirrored eyes catch sight of each other, and Kyoya slides behind Kaoru without breaking contact or any sign of hesitation.

Kaoru steps forward wordlessly, gripping the marble counter as Kyoya’s fingers tease the length of his ribcage. Closing the space between them, molding himself to Kaoru as he bends over the sink, Kyoya can see the beginnings of a smile as his hand moves further down that still-familiar waist, and he wants more.

Not once does his gaze leave Kaoru’s face. While one hand works unwanted clothes out of the way, the other rakes through Kaoru’s hair. Kyoya grips and pulls back to expose the entirety of his lover’s face, intent on having access to every aspect available to him.

Hissing euphoric, Kaoru can feel the heat of the body pressing into him, and it’s as if they hadn’t ravaged one another the night before. “ _Take your pants off_.”

Kyoya obliges, but only after instructing Kaoru to stay where he is. He doesn’t back away, instead taking his time, memorizing the feel of knuckles as they brush against the curve of Kaoru’s ass. The leather of his belt grazes exposed skin to prolong this already slow burn as he brings Kaoru’s pants down with his own.

As promised, Kaoru doesn’t move a muscle, and it forces him to reconcile more than the image of Kyoya’s lust, but his own apparent need to be inextricably gratified by this man. Off or on, hot or cold—there is no being unaffected by Ootori Kyoya. At this point, Kaoru will never question again that this is the side his heart demands to fall on.

And so it is.

Resting his chin on Kaoru’s shoulder, Kyoya tastes the exposed skin before he runs his teeth along the shell of Kaoru’s ear, his voice dripping with invitation as he whispers, “You should know I’m not playing.”

It’s the rush of lust, Kaoru knows, but he’s also confident the two of them are operating with their bearings full about them. So comes the conscious decision to remain for as long as Kyoya will allow it. He’s willing to take his chances, willing to navigate weighty conversations, arguments that have yet to come, and to humor thoughts about the future.

He flips around to face Kyoya, only to discover he is not the only one capable of sudden moves, and then there is no space between them.

It’s been years since he’s felt this good—justified in his want and unapologetic for the uninhibited heat being stirred up between them.  Kyoya’s hand wraps around both of their erections; a deep shudder runs through his body, and he leans into Kaoru’s weight for support.

He takes his time in satiating Kaoru, paying no mind to the come spilt between them, but allows it to aid in drawing the more primal inclinations of his otherwise refined partner out . He can feel Kaoru’s expression change, can feel crescent moons left in his shoulder blades. Eyelashes  flutter against his neck, and it’s an elated sigh away before Kaoru follows suit.

Kyoya’s kept his partners limited over the past few years, and occasions for intimacy even moreso. The way Kaoru now falls into him, how he smiles gracious for the arm Kyoya wraps around his waist, is an ideal reminder of why.

For the time it will take to collect themselves—to bathe and dress, to assemble appearances and emotions—the morning will be nearly over. It isn’t merely another day, another lazy morning gone by, but is the bookend to another gathering of their seven.

Barring unknown celebration or catastrophe, only a single day remains before the Ouran High School Host Club must wake up to divide itself among continents and various corners of Japan all over again.

Traditionally, it’s a day full of bittersweet laughter and claimants to calendar spots still months away. The fact has not escaped Kaoru that this is the year he and Kyoya stop offering one another well wishes and formal good-byes, but begin a new season with of life with friends and various family in their corner. Regardless of what lies ahead, there is comfort and encouragement to be had from everyone who is waiting on the other side of the door.

It’s thoughts like these that cause Kaoru to speed up their time beneath the suite’s ridiculously amazing waterfall shower, to shake his head and laugh at the scowl across Kyoya’s face as he lets cold air in while he makes an exit through the shower door.

 

* * *

 

“Did you ever get his approval?”

 _This again._ Kyoya looks out the window, considering the point where the sky and water wed into the horizon while securing the second of two jasper cufflinks to the end of his sleeve.

He supposes it’s only fair to address the question, particularly when considering that Kaoru is likely to bring it up later if he doesn’t. Answering from over his shoulder, Kyoya’s slow to respond while appreciating the lithe frame and delicate saunter emerging from the bathroom not in his own clothing, but in one of Kyoya’s white button-downs, instead.

The vision edges on erotic and is sentimental, though Kyoya is quick to remind himself of the practicality of the situation. Their time as a group of seven is limited. Should Kaoru go to his own suite for a change of clothes, they run the risk of compromising valuable time and discretion.

Even so.

“Are you saying you believe in his approval?”

“I thought that was obvious.”

One day, Kaoru is set to inherit the foremost fashion house in Japan. Knowing this does little to deter Kyoya from fussing over already pristine lapels as he looks for reasonable excuses to keep hands on the body in front of him.

“No.”

“No, it’s not obvious?”

“No, I don’t have his approval. Nor am I looking for it.”

“Kyoya—“

“ _Kaoru._ ” For every ounce of concern tinging Kaoru’s voice, Kyoya’s is full of impatience and spurn, though the latter is not meant for anyone currently standing in the room. “Kaoru, everything I have done has been for myself, just as everything my father claims to do for our family’s benefit is truly for _him_ self. I’m sure he had the best of intentions when he instigated a zaibatsu to compensate for difficult times, but the older I get the more unsavory I find his methods.”

Kaoru had left. Never asking to fall in love with an Ootori, fully realizing Kyoya had never asked for the inconvenience of falling in love with _him_. At the time it had seemed better to break things off rather than ask Kyoya to make impossible decisions. At the very least, Kaoru refused to make himself a liability, a fact which he no longer knows whether or not he regrets. It becomes impossible, then, to stand by and allow Kyoya to compare his own intentions with those of the father he seems unable to reconcile with.

“I don’t believe that for a second. Is it so hard to believe that acting out of self-interest can be mutually exclusive to behaving selfishly?”

“Yes, well, in this family that is a rather blurred dichotomy.”

“It’s not the same.” Kaoru makes a stubborn line of his mouth, and shakes his head fervently. “I know how much you care for your family, and not just upholding the name. So I know you don’t speak those words lightly, but believe me, Kyoya, when I say that you’re the opposite. You are _generous_. I don’t want to settle for you having realized you deserve to be happy. I want you to see that you’re _good_ , too.”

“It’d been culminating for quite some time, but it’s nearly an embarrassment how long it’s taken me to count myself. After you left I had to assure myself that whether you chose to stay by me or not, in the end the choices I’ve made have been for me.”

With a sure hand, Kyoya smooths down Kaoru’s lapels before making toward the bed stand to retrieve watch and wallet. He chooses his next words carefully, speaking with soft certainty. “Academics, _relationships_ , career-wise. Although, I’d be remiss if I didn’t say you have long been a variable in a very detailed equation.”

“From the moment I met you, it was all about the inheritance. I don’t think any of us in club ever thought it was as simple as that, more like it was your grail, but I digress. No one who knows you has ever doubted you’ve always been after something more.”

“He was never going to pass the inheritance to me.” Kyoya states with absolute certainty, though there is no sign of upset in his voice. It is a most basic fact. “Yuuichi was groomed for that position just as Akito tailored himself to be the best ever second-in-command.  Any talk of meritocracy was simply an acknowledgement of who could inherit, not who will.”

It pains Kaoru to see this force of nature reconcile with such harsh facts. Crossing his arms, his eyes trail Kyoya across the room while continuing to listen.

“But he won’t disown me, either. That doesn’t mean I wasn’t going to put up a fight for it, show them what I’m capable of. To do that, I needed to remain focused. There was too much navigating that had to be done, and I didn’t have the time or energy to fight you, too.”

“I’m so sorry.” It’s a fact of life now; one that will likely take a long time before it doesn’t cause Kaoru’s chest to ache. But he can deal with that.

Kyoya raises a hand, signaling that he’s not looking for apologies so much as offering his own explanation of the last several months.

“At some point, lines began to blur. Should I keep picking up the phone—feed myself some tripe like _that’s what friends do?_ Check in on each other for no apparent reason? Do I persist in my obstinance in the event you finally come to your senses? I tried to tell myself the former would be good enough, but I think we’re trying to remain honest, here.”

Again, Kaoru does what he can to fight down the guilt that so badly wants to crawl from the back of his throat. He does what he can to maintain a straight face, desperately wanting to prove his objectivity.

“Hikaru told me you had a fiancé, and I tried my damnedest to be happy for you.”

“I had no such thing. Dating Setsuko-san was the last of a lifetime of abiding my father’s wishes. Whatever match they intended for me, I refused to become engaged until a date to be determined only after I—“

“So you teased and used her.” Kaoru accuses, fully aware but uncaring if it makes him a hypocrite. It’s of little use, as Kyoya’s response is appropriately biting.

“I made my intentions clear with her. It was her own fatal error to publicly introduce herself as my fiancé when I’d blatently maintained otherwise, and I’ll share no portion of the blame. I called off the entire relationship a few days after running into Hikaru at the theatre.”

“Was it a real relationship to her?”

“Hardly. It’s safe to say I made a point to neither physically nor emotionally touch her.” Kyoya’s words are brittle. It’s a sound Kaoru cannot claim to like on anyone, much less coming from _his_ Kyoya. He begins to lose himself in the facts, pulling up dates and durations that speak to his own previously failed relationship, unwittingly comparing it to Kyoya’s while his mind meters out its own private justice on his conscience.

It takes the gentle wrapping of fingers around his shoulder, a swift and unexpected motion as Kyoya swipes the fringe from across Kaoru’s eyes to wake him from his reverie. Kyoya’s staring right back, and bless him, his expression is free of judgment. It can’t be hope, as it’s been too long since Kaoru’s had any, when he swears those gunmetal eyes have rarely shone this bright. It’s nearly too much for his heart to handle when Kyoya smiles wide before letting his shoulder go.

“If we don’t go now, we’ll be walking in just as Mitsukuni’s planning tea.”

It’s just the non sequitur they need to shake off the weight of their conversation. Kaoru gives a small shake of his head and just laughs. “Then let’s go.”

Kaoru takes several steps forward to where Kyoya is holding open the door, taking a moment to savor the ease with which the two of them now stand so near. Kyoya is neat and attractive in the navy Varvatos blazer he knows Kaoru loves; yet another reminder that regardless of the outcome, the Shadow King has a plan for everything.

Several paces into the corridor, the door clicks shut, and it’s another moment before he hears steady footsteps close behind. Kyoya doesn’t bother to speed up, but instead allows Kaoru the privacy of expression as he offers a suggestion.

“There’s space left in the closet. If you’re tired of starting in one place and ending up in another.”

At this Kaoru slows, but doesn’t wait for his lover’s footsteps to align with his own. Assailing him, Kyoya ends up pinned by trembling hands to the wall. Kaoru exhales his heart’s capacity of worry in a single breath before whispering his gratitude in Kyoya’s ear.

_We’re really going forward._

His vulnerability earns him a kiss to the forehead, and once again the two of them are on their way. It’s a glowing affirmation; one that Kaoru has spent far too long believing in while also telling himself couldn’t possibly be true.

Dichotomies, indeed.

 

* * *

 

 

A month out from the reunion, Kaoru can’t help but notice how life insists on relentlessly flying by.

At the very least, he and Hikaru are finally able to start work on what for years now has been considered at best a fantasy endeavor. There is no shortage of excitement over the fact that for the next several months, House of Hitachiin has been tasked with dressing the entirety of the Morinozuka-Fujioka wedding party. Or, as it has affectionately come to be called: Operation Haruhi’s Wedding Gown.

There is hardly any time with which Kaoru might slow himself down, perhaps even abide by his self-created rule that work should remain outside of the bedroom, and is not to be humored after a certain hour of the night.

Alas. He finds himself collecting a pile of sketches, look books, and project edits that have taken over the side of the king-sized bed he sleeps on. On the other side, Kyoya lies draped across one pillow while an impressive tome of legal jargon is propped in front of him on another. Adorably, his eyes are heavy-lidded while his glasses sit precariously at the tip of his nose.

“At this point.” Kaoru pontificates while pulling the covers back, “You’ll just have to reread whatever that is in the morning.”

“Mm.” Kyoya marks the start of a paragraph that is admittedly half a page back from where he’d ended. The glasses come off and are set atop the bedside table that these days he more often than not claims as his own.

Collectively, they’ve clocked in about as much time throughout Europe and America as they have time back in Tokyo. It’s home base now, which is a comfort to stay the least. Something to look forward to while the relentless marriage of personal reputation to one’s name is invariably on the line.

More often than not, Kaoru ends up falling into his own bed after spending days, possibly weeks, away. It’s a mutual preference, really, as he presumes the downtown high rise where Kyoya has lived to contain far too many numbed out memories to find any real kind of solace there.

Kaoru’s place, on the other hand, is a Ginza-district loft whose lease is only a few months old. He’d chosen it arbitrarily upon returning from a stint in Madrid that had as much to do with work as it had staying away. Providing sufficient space to work, play, entertain or hide away, at the time, it’d been enough.

And now?

Now, he texts small sentiments and times of arrival, secure that the odds are in his favor of coming home and finding Kyoya half asleep in his—their—bed. Indeed, the place does not feel so empty, anymore.

Resting on his side, Kaoru nestles obnoxiously into the sheets until finally discovering a position he deems comfortable. Beside him, Kyoya has given up on consciousness and is nearly asleep, when suddenly his hands are his no more.

Gently, Kaoru seizes the hand closest to him, massaging the palm until Kyoya relaxes one lazy fist. Kaoru claims that hand for himself before the other concedes to his touch, which he then lays flat against a velvet pillow.

It doesn’t take years of friendship to figure Kyoya for the sort of person to internalize the more personal aspects of himself. It doesn’t hurt, however, to have that rapport, in addition to a position of explicit trust and intimacy.

Kaoru knows better than anyone that the heavier Kyoya sleeps, the tighter his hands clench in on themselves, often leaving violet crescent marks in their wake. It’s a coping mechanism, Kaoru realizes. An inadvertent physical outlet for all he’s allowed done to him, in addition to all he’s done to himself.

It’s a habit that after waking each morning Kyoya soon forgets, but Kaoru finds impossible to ignore.

Readjusting his body, Kaoru moves without any thought for unlinking his and Kyoya’s hands. To his amusement, it land him an exasperated side-eye for all of his jostling and Kyoya’s involuntary motion. Finally, with a happy sigh his head hits the pillow.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m ready for bed.”

“Quite.”

 _Too cute._ Kaoru doesn’t buy that frown for a second, and soon enough Kyoya’s thumb is affectionately rubbing his own.

Finally, they’ve found a place worth calling home.


End file.
